


The Cottage At Eye

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [36]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys enjoy a well-earned Christmas break in the country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cottage At Eye

“Coffee?” muttered Stephen, reluctantly disentangling himself from his lover’s arms and sliding towards the edge of the bed.

“Mmm,” acknowledged Ryan, before immediately burrowing back under the warmth of the duvet.

Stephen didn’t blame him. The heating was turned up but the flat was still freezing. There was even a thin film of ice on the inside of the kitchen windows. He hopped from one foot to the other, waiting for the kettle to boil. Christ, if it carried on like this, he’d be putting a fleecy dressing-gown and equally fleecy slippers on his Christmas list.

Five minutes later, he deposited a mug of coffee at either side of the bed, and then slid back in, wrapping himself round the sleeping soldier.

“Fucking hell, Hart! Can’t you wear socks, or something?”

“In bed?”

“In the kitchen. You can take ‘em off when you get back in bed.”

Stephen grinned and buried a cold nose in Ryan’s armpit, tucking his freezing feet up against his lover’s legs. “You’re a romantic bastard, Ryan.”

The Special Forces captain chuckled and wrapped an arm round him. “What are you grumbling about? I haven’t thrown you out of bed yet for crimes against humanity.”

Stephen surfaced, grinning. “Not a jury in the world would convict me. You’re meant to be trained to withstand hardship.”

“Putting up with your feet is over and above the call of duty. They make Ditzy’s sodding hands feel warm.”

Stephen slid a hand, warm from the coffee mug, down Ryan’s body and found a hard cock waiting for him. “Need a pee?”

“Had one half an hour ago while you were still snoring.” Ryan took a swig of coffee and pulled the duvet up around his chest. “So this one’s all for you.”

It was Saturday morning, and while they were both on call, it looked very much like the anomalies had decided to give the festive season a break. The last week had been free of any problems, and even Connor had been heard to say that he hoped it would stay that way for a while longer so he could get his Christmas shopping done. Abby had grinned at him and predicted that he would still leave it all to Christmas Eve. She was almost certainly right. Organisation and Connor were not words generally used in the same breath.

Christmas. Not a time that generally held much appeal for Stephen. In past years, he’d often spent it with Nick, getting drunk and watching crap TV, other times he’d booked a holiday to somewhere warm and spent the time wind-surfing, or watching wildlife.

This year was more of a problem. Lester had already laid down the law about not leaving the country, so that put paid to any idea of fleeing the wind and rain of the British winter. Nick was heading north for a long-overdue family visit, and it was rumoured that he might also be spending a couple of days in the company of Claudia Brown. Connor and Abby were both intending to visit their respective parents.

And Ryan?

He had no bloody idea how Ryan intended to spend Christmas, and whenever he had almost psyched himself up to ask, his nerve had failed. They were lovers. So what? Did that give him the right to ask what Ryan was intending to do? For all he knew, the soldier had been invited to spend Christmas with the Thorntons and had just forgotten to mention it.

They’d been together for nearly eight months now, eight months in which they’d fought assorted prehistoric creatures, been separated at times by countless millions of years, and fucked like it was going out of fashion. And there were still times when Stephen felt he didn’t necessarily know the man at his side any better than he had done that day in the Forest of Dean when Ryan had pressed him back against a damp cliff and kissed him.

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, Hart?”

Stephen’s hand jumped guiltily. Damn. That’s what came of sleeping with a man who’d been trained in the art of observation. Was no bloody secret safe? He kept up the gentle rhythm of his fingers and tried to decide how to answer.

By way of procrastination, he swiped his tongue over Ryan’s right nipple and watched it harden. He felt his lover’s hand tracking down over his back towards his arse ….

“Don’t pinch, you bastard!”

“Then spill the beans, sweetheart. You know perfectly well you lie like a cheap carpet, so don’t even try.”

Stephen sighed, and watched his breath raise the hairs on Ryan’s chest. “Bloody Christmas.”

“What about it?” There was a note of genuine surprise in the soldier’s voice, and Stephen’s stomach suddenly twisted in hope.

“Normally try and bugger off abroad but bloody Lester’s put a stop to that.”

Ryan shifted his hips, thrusting up into Stephen’s hand. “Good, because if you bugger off abroad, that’ll put paid to my plans for shagging your brains out on a sheepskin rug in front of a wood-burning stove.”

Unwittingly, Stephen tightened his grip, as Ryan’s words ran round in circles in his head, stubbornly trying to rearrange themselves into something that didn’t sound suspiciously like an invitation. To his embarrassment, Stephen’s heart started to speed up. To cover for himself, he kept his hand moving, flicking his thumb over the head of Ryan’s cock, the way he knew his lover liked.

“Is that a yes?” the soldier enquired, mildly.

“A yes to what?”

“To me taking you away for three days to a cottage in the countryside and fucking you every which ways round.”

“It’s a yes,” breathed Stephen, and in an attempt to hide the flush that was creeping up his cheeks at the thought of spending Christmas with his lover, he slipped down the bed and wrapped his lips round the head of Ryan’s cock, sucking hard, while his hand teased the soldier’s balls.

Ryan groaned and was obviously trying hard not to thrust but, under the ministrations of Stephen’s hands and mouth, he failed. Stephen chuckled, knowing the effect it would have on the soldier, and in moments, Ryan was coming down his throat.

Stephen swallowed, licking his lover clean of the last salty drops of fluid.

Then resting his head on Ryan’s stomach, he enquired, “Can I do some of the fucking as well?”

A large hand ruffled his hair, and then Ryan obligingly shifted onto his stomach, spreading his legs. “You can fuck me any time you want, baby. As long as it keeps your cold feet off my back for five minutes, you won’t catch me grumbling!”

And for the first time in several weeks, Stephen was able to make love without the feeling of being watched by a spectral elephant from the corner of the room.

* * * * *

“When are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Stephen asked, throwing yet another pair of socks and a third sweater into his already over-stuffed rucksack.

“When we get there.”

“Don’t like surprises!”

“Yes you do. You liked it just fine when I sucked your cock in the bogs at the Home Office.”

* * * * *

“Are we there yet?” whined Stephen, three hours later, shifting in the car seat and making puppy dog eyes.

“No.”

“Can I have an ice cream?”

“No, and if you hadn’t noticed, it’s bloody well snowing out there.”

“Do you reckon we’ll need the chains?”

“Not unless it gets much worse, but we’d better hope there isn’t a serious shout while we’re here, or Lester will be whining about the helicopter bills. The roads round here will drift up something chronic if it carries on like this much longer.”

“So we are nearly there? Good. I need a pee.”

* * * * *

The car turned off the narrow country lane, lined with tall hedges, and started to bounce along an unmade track. Daylight was fading into a rosy glow as the last rays of a winter sun broke through the grey mass of cloud, heralding what looked to be a brief break in the flurries of snow that had surrounded them for the last twenty miles.

No other vehicles had driven this way, and on a couple of occasions, the tyres fought for grip on the powdered snow that now lay thickly on the ground.

They were heading for a lone cottage, surrounded on all sides by a flat expanse of East Anglian fields. Trees stood out darkly against the skyline some distance away, encircling the building at a distance. It was single storey building, which had obviously been extended in a haphazard way over the years. The thatched roof looked well maintained, and the whole cottage was painted in the warm colour known locally as Suffolk Pink. Anywhere else, Stephen would have thought the colour was ghastly, but here, against the stark white of the snow, it looked strangely beautiful.

Ryan parked the car and rummaged in his pocket for a key. Stephen watched in surprise. He’d half expected him to fish the key out from under a plant pot instead. A hiding place beloved of all holiday cottage owners.

He grabbed the rucksacks from the boot, and followed Ryan inside. Without the slightest hesitation, Ryan flicked a fuse in a box high up on one wall and the lights came on. It was warmer inside than out, the product of thick walls, no doubt, but in a matter of minutes, Ryan had opened the front of a large wood-burning stove and set a match to a large pile of kindling, already laid on a bed of newspaper. The dry wood caught almost instantly, flames leaping upwards.

Ryan closed the stove door and looked around, a small smile of satisfaction on his face.

“This isn’t a holiday cottage, is it?” said Stephen, giving in to curiosity.

The soldier met Stephen’s questioning eyes and grinned. “Well, I do come here for holidays, but no, it’s not a holiday cottage. It was my gran’s home all her life. She left it to me when she died. Do you like it?”

Stephen looked around, taking in a surprisingly large room, with a enormous inglenook fireplace that surrounded the square, black-leaded stove. To the right was a kitchen area, with an old fashioned range, and also a new oven and hob, set in a thick, wooden work-surface. An old oak table and six mismatched chairs finished off the dining area. A red and white checked table-cloth gave it a homely air.

A large sofa, covered in several brightly coloured Indian blankets faced the fire and in front of it was the largest sheepskin rug that Stephen had ever seen. It looked like it had come off a sheep the size of a _megatherium_. He was going to enjoy being shagged senseless on that.

He met Ryan’s eyes and returned the grin. “It’s gorgeous. Like its owner. Come on, soldier boy, let’s get the stuff in from the car, while we can still struggle through the snow drifts.”

* * * * *

An hour later, after a meal consisting of steak and home-made chips, washed down with a bottle of red wine, Stephen sat on the rug, curled up at Ryan’s feet, staring into the fire through two smoked-glass panes, watching the dry wood flare and burn. They had thrown open the door to the bedroom at the back of the house, which opened off the main room, letting the warmth drive away any lingering cold. Ryan had also turned on an electric blanket, using the excuse that the bed might need airing.

He felt Ryan’s fingers toying with his hair, enjoying the sensation of being stroked and petted like a cat. If Ryan carried on like this much longer, Stephen was likely to start purring. In fact, turning onto his back and inviting a tummy tickle would have seemed like a good idea if he hadn’t been so full from the meal.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” he asked, reaching up and lacing his fingers with Ryan’s.

“Wake up. Make love. Put the turkey in the oven. Go for a run in the snow. Chop wood. Make love. Eat smoked salmon. Drink champagne. Phone Vicky while she opens her presents. Prepare an enormous lunch. Eat it. Fall asleep in front of the fire.”

The fire wasn’t the only thing in the room emitting a warm glow. Stephen reached up and brought Ryan’s hand round to his mouth and pressed a kiss onto the soldier’s open palm. “You’ve forgotten something.”

“The washing up?”

“No. The bit where we wake up and make love again.” And Stephen didn’t think he’d ever tire of using that phrase. Yes, they fucked. Yes, they shagged. But when he stopped and thought about it, he knew deep down that whatever they called it, and however they did it, it amounted to the same thing, now.

Making love.

He uncurled from the floor to stand in front of the fire, the only light coming from there and a large standard lamp behind the sofa. Moving slowly and languorously, he pulled off his sweater and tossed it onto a wooden armchair. His tee shirt followed suit. The room was warm, and surprisingly free of draughts.

Stephen ran his hands over his own chest, tweaking his nipples, which hardened rapidly.

Ryan watched appreciatively.

Socks went next, leaving Stephen standing wearing nothing but a pair of old, faded jeans with a rip in one knee. Moving even more slowly, he undid his belt and slid down the zip, taking good care not to catch himself in the metal teeth.

His lover grinned.

With a graceful shimmy, Stephen pushed the denim down over his hips and stepped out of the jeans. His cock was already hard and he could tell by the way Ryan shifted on the sofa that he wasn’t the only one in that state. “Stand up,” he purred. “I want to undress you.” Ryan obliged, but when he made to run his hand over Stephen’s skin, he was treated to a shake of the head, and an injunction to, “Look, don’t touch. I want to make this last.”

Ryan had taken his own sweater off while he’d been cooking. Stephen tugged the soldier’s shirt out of his trousers and slipped his hands inside, running them round Ryan’s back, and then slowly, very slowly, he started to undo the buttons. His tongue darted out to lick and tease at every new piece of flesh the exercise revealed, then when the shirt was finally hanging open, he pushed it off and let it fall to the rug.

As his hands dropped to his lover’s belt, he nuzzled and nipped at Ryan’s nipples, tracking with his mouth from one to the other and back, feeling the slight tremors that were starting to run through the strong body, now partially exposed to his appreciative eyes. He could already smell Ryan’s arousal and feel the hardness between his legs. His own cock felt heavy and he longed for Ryan’s touch, but that could wait.

Unlike him, Ryan did have underwear on, but it was soon disposed of, leaving the soldier standing naked in the soft light from the fire. Stephen sank to his knees, trailing kisses down Ryan’s warm skin, licking his cock, sucking first one ball then the other into his mouth, while the fingers of both hands ran lightly down over Ryan’s arse, scraping and teasing.

The soldier moaned softly and clutched at Stephen’s hair.

Stephen sat back on his heels, staring up the long length of his lover’s body. “I want you inside me,” he murmured. “I want you to fuck me so hard that it’ll feel like your cock’s coming out of my throat from the inside.”

Ryan laughed. “Then fetch the lube. I want to take this slowly.”

Once he’d complied with Ryan’s request, Stephen stretched out on the rug, enjoying the soft feel of the wool on his naked skin. He ran a lazy hand along his own cock, smiling up at his kneeling lover.

He watched the soldier flip the cap on the tube, taking his time slicking his cock, letting his hand drift down over his own balls. Ryan knelt down on the rug and carefully settled Stephen’s thighs over his. Stephen wriggled impatiently, making an encouraging noise, deep in his throat. He was rewarded by one well-lubricated finger slipping carefully inside him. It felt good. It always felt good, but he wanted more, and he wanted it quickly.

“You’re a demanding slut, and you’re mine,” muttered Ryan, leaning forwards and replacing his finger with his cock.

Stephen let out a low moan of pure pleasure. He loved it when he could persuade Ryan to fuck him with minimal preparation, glorying in the feeling of being stretched almost – but not quite – to the point of pain. Ryan started to thrust almost lazily, taking his weight on his arms and pushing Stephen’s legs back, watching his own cock sliding in and out of Stephen’s body with an intent concentration that Stephen found intoxicating.

He almost lost himself in the pleasure of watching the rapt expression on his lover’s face, then he felt Ryan’s hard cock forcing its way even deep inside him and he failed to bite back a needy whine.

Ryan grinned and changed the angle of his thrust.

Pleasure exploded inside Stephen and he thrust upwards with his hips.

The soldier drew back, and then slammed home again.

Stephen yelped. He knew Ryan would take the piss unmercifully later, telling him he’d sounded like a puppy whose tail had just been trodden on, but he didn’t care. This was beyond good. He tried to get an impatient hand round to his own cock, but Ryan casually grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the rug.

“No touching yourself, Hart,” he breathed. “I told you we were taking this slowly …”

A tremor ran through Stephen’s body. He needed to come, and he needed to come _now_ , but Ryan clearly had other plans.

How the hell the bastard kept his control in situations like this, Stephen would never know. Within five minutes, he was writhing and panting. After ten minutes his entire body was slick with sweat and he was begging, but still Ryan was managing to hold back his own orgasm and Stephen’s, strong fingers wrapped tightly round the base of Stephen’s cock.

Begging degenerated in helpless pleas, interspersed with incoherent demands for more, and even to his own ears he sounded desperate. Ryan simply grinned and thrust harder.

Then the tyrannical fingers released their grip just a fraction, as a voice rough with need growled, “I love you, Hart,” and it was enough. Stars exploded in Stephen’s brain and he came with a force that mixed pleasure and pain. His arse contracted round Ryan’s cock, and he shot ropes of come over his own stomach.

And somewhere, mixed into the middle of his own cries and whimpers, Stephen managed to gasp, “I love you, too,” before Ryan’s lips on his took him to a place where there was no need for words.

* * * * *

Early morning sunlight slanted in through the small window, falling on Stephen’s face and bringing him gently awake. Ryan lay pressed up behind him, one arm looped around Stephen’s waist, and his nose buried between his shoulder blades. Getting out of bed without walking the soldier was usually impossible, so instead, Stephen wriggled round to face his lover, pressed a kiss onto Ryan’s mouth, and whispered, “Happy Christmas.”

Ryan’s mouth opened automatically under his, drawing him deeper into the kiss. When the soldier eventually broke for air, he murmured, “Happy Christmas, sweetheart,” and for once, there was no ironic inflection in the endearment.

Here, in the cottage at Eye, normal rules appeared to be suspended. It was Christmas Day, they were undoubtedly snowed in, and they could be as soft as they liked with each other and no-one else in the world would ever be any the wiser.

Stephen smiled. “Presents now, or presents later?”

“Presents later,” said Ryan, softly. “There’s something I need to do first,” and with a sinuous wriggle, which barely disturbed the duvet, Ryan slipped beneath the covers, kissing his way gently down Stephen’s body, paying careful attention to every inch of skin as he worked his way slowly and sensuously towards his goal.

By the time his lover had even reached the vicinity of his cock, Stephen was moaning softly, his hands running over Ryan’s short hair, stroking the soldier’s face, urging him on, as the feather-light kisses worked their magic.

Stephen felt large hands spreading his thighs as Ryan settled comfortably between them, still studiously avoiding his lover’s erect cock. He could feel the stubble on Ryan’s cheeks rubbing over his sensitive skin as the soldier’s face pressed into his groin, and warm lips wrapped themselves around him.

Stephen drew in a long, shuddering sigh of pleasure.

“Anyone would think you like that,” commented Ryan’s muffled voice, from the middle of the bed.

“’s the best,” gasped Stephen, trying for coherence, and failing.

“You said it was the best last night, when I had my cock up your arse. Make your mind up, sweetie.” Ryan’s warm laughter ghosted over his balls.

“Love you,” breathed Stephen, trying – and failing – to keep his hips still as Ryan tongued teasingly at his slit.

“Love … you … too,” came the reply, each word punctuated with a light scrape of Ryan’s bottom teeth, and a deft flick of a sinfully talented tongue.

With a surprised cry, Stephen reached his first climax of the day, in his lover’s mouth.

* * * * *  
It was now 7 am on Christmas morning, and they had another snow-filled mile of trackway to cover before they looped back through the trees to cross the fields separating the woodland from the cottage.

Even wearing nothing but jogging bottoms and tee shirts, they were both still sweating heavily by the time they reached their destination.

“Shower?” asked Stephen, pulling off his tee shirt and using it to wipe his face.

Ryan shook his head, then dragged his own shirt off. “Chopping wood comes first.”

“I get to watch you stripped to the waist, wielding an axe? Fuck, it really is Christmas day …”

The soldier grinned, flipped him the finger, then unlocked the shed and brought out a heavy splitting axe. “You set ‘em up, I split ‘em.”

Five minutes later, Stephen’s cock was painfully hard, as he watched the smooth play of Ryan’s muscles, while the soldier swung the axe, with impressive accuracy, at every log Stephen set in front of him. The light sheen of sweat on Ryan’s torso was doing absolutely nothing for his self-composure, and his erection was starting to rub unashamedly against the soft cotton of his jogging bottoms.

“Serves you right for not wearing any underwear,” grinned Ryan, watching with amusement.

Another log split apart, the two halves jumping away from the splitting block.

Stephen returned the grin, leaning back against the wall of the outhouse and hooking thumbs in his waistband, pushing the top of the trousers down far enough to expose himself to the cold morning air.

Ryan’s look turned speculative. “Are you trying to distract a man with an axe?”

In answer, Stephen kicked off his running shoes, pushed down his tracksuit trousers and shimmied out of them, to stand, barefoot and naked, in the trampled snow. Turning slowly and gracefully, he moved back to the wall, spreading his legs and leaning with his weight on his hands, fingers pressed up against the pink exterior of the log store.

He heard the sound of Ryan’s axe landing in the snow, then moments later, warm hands were pulling his arse cheeks apart and a burrowing tongue was doing its best to climb inside him. A second later, the warmth of Ryan’s tongue was abruptly replaced by an exceedingly cold finger, which the soldier had clearly just been pressing into the snow.

The contrast made him gasp.

Ryan chuckled, and went back to work with his tongue.

A yelp followed almost immediately as a handful of snow was pressed into Stephen’s groin.

Ryan laughed.

The snow melted around Stephen, water running in cold trickles down his thighs, doing absolutely nothing to dampen his ardour. He squirmed in a way that he knew never failed to turn Ryan on, and was rewarded with the intrusion of two cold fingers in his arse, their way slicked with nothing more than cold snow.

He pressed back against Ryan, desperate for the contact of skin on skin, equally desperate for the feel of Ryan inside him.

“Seeing as how it’s Christmas, I won’t make you wait while I get the lube,” breathed the soldier, before he spat onto his hand and used that to slick the head of his cock.

Stephen’s whine of pleasure sounded loud in the absolute silence of the snow-filled yard. He felt the warmth of Ryan’s arms sliding round him as he was pulled, slowly and inexorably, back onto his lover’s cock.

Oh dear God, it felt good.

Ryan filled him, stretching him and holding him there on the delicious edge of pleasure/pain. His cocked twitched, and a warm, calloused hand wrapped itself comfortably around him, squeezing firmly at the base to hold back the threat of orgasm.

“Not so quick, you impatient little bugger …. going to take this nice and slowly ….. you’re going to scream as you come, darling, ….and they’re going to hear you down in the village …..”

Ryan’s words raised the hairs on the back of Stephen’s neck, and he pushed back hard against his lover’s sweat-slicked chest. He knew that Ryan wouldn’t fuck him too hard like this, no matter what the soldier’s words promised, but even the short, sharp thrusts he was getting from his lover’s hips were still enough to push him closer and closer to the edge.

Stephen loved it like this: sharp and raw, the smell of his own sweat and Ryan’s mingling in the still air. He tried to thrust forward with his hips, but Ryan’s hand held his straining dick firmly in place, refusing to allow him the luxury of free movement. Standing barefoot in the snow, Stephen felt every inch of his skin flushing hotly as Ryan continued to drive him closer and closer to the edge. Each short stroke nudged his prostate, making him gasp and press backwards in the desperate quest for more pleasure.

He was conscious of Ryan’s lips at his hairline, kissing and nipping, warm breath sliding sensuously over his skin, then he began to lose himself in the sensations enveloping him and if it carried on like this, even the gun-calloused fingers at the base of his cock weren’t going to be enough to keep him from coming.

Ryan laughed, “Are you enjoying this, baby?” and before Stephen could answer, he felt the soldier gasp in surprise as his own orgasm hit him unexpectedly.

Then his own come suddenly splattered against the pink paintwork as Stephen reached his second climax of the day, barefoot and naked in the snow, his lover’s cock still twitching in his arse.

Stephen’s scream of pleasure didn’t quite reach the village, but it did have the dubious distinction of startling an early morning dog-walker in the nearby woods.

* * * * *

By 3pm, they’d finished Christmas dinner, swopped presents and opened them, talked to Ryan’s daughter, Vicky, on the phone for the third time that day and were now considering falling asleep in front of the fire.

Stephen lay curled up on the enormous sofa, his head pillowed in Ryan’s lap, enjoying the feel of his lover’s fingers combing gently through his hair. By his count, he’d climaxed five times already that day, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d have any prospect whatsoever of getting yet another hard-on, when Ryan murmured, “Penny for ‘em, lover boy?”

Stephen turned onto his back, and realised that while he might be dubious about whether he could manage it again, Ryan was not suffering any such indecision. His cheek was pressed up against the bulge in his lover’s jeans. He grinned, and by way of reply, bit gently at his lover’s denim clad erection.

Ryan moaned softly.

A small amount of rearrangement allowed Stephen to slide the zip down and tug Ryan’s dick free. It sprang up in front of his face, hard and hot. “Mmm, I was wondering what we were having for afters ….”

“Mince pies?” hazarded Ryan, his fingers still toying with Stephen’s hair.

“If I could be arsed to move, I’d slather you with brandy cream …. As it is, I’ll just have to use my imagination.” Stephen flicked his tongue out, lapping at Ryan’s skin, enjoying the sharp taste of the fluid gathering at the tip.

They’d promised each other a whole day of making love, and their enthusiasm for each other’s bodies was by no means running out. The urgency of their earlier couplings had diminished, giving way to a slow, delicious fervour that only seemed to have intensified as the day had gone on, not lessened.

Stephen swirled his tongue round and round, alternating long, languorous licks with short lapping motions. Ryan sighed happily, and settled one hand on the back of Stephen’s neck.

“Have I told you how much I love you, today?” the soldier asked, stroking the fingers of his other hand down Stephen’s unshaven cheek.

“Once or twice.”

“Have I told you enough times?”

Stephen looked up, allowing the strength of his own love to bleed into his eyes. “No. You could tell me ‘til Doomsday and I still wouldn’t tire of hearing you say it. Tell me again.”

Ryan smiled down at him. “I love you, Stephen Hart.”

Stephen smiled, and breathed the words, “I love you too,” before surrounding his lover’s cock with his lips again.

He reached his sixth climax of the day in his own jeans, just from hearing the sigh of pleasure as Ryan came down his throat.

* * * * *

Later, very much later, indeed, they lay together underneath the warmth of the duvet, arms and legs entwined, enjoying each other’s gentle caresses and trading light kisses which tasted pleasantly of the last brandy they’d shared in front of the fire.

“Had a nice Christmas Day, my love?” murmured Ryan, against his cheek.

“The best,” said Stephen, with nothing less than perfect truth.

And for the rest of the night, they slept undisturbed in each other’s arms.  
 


End file.
